


Let's Go Home, Please

by frau_haile



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Morty didn't deserve the shit on his plate, Psychological Trauma, Rick being a grandpa, S1E5 Meeseeks and Destroy aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frau_haile/pseuds/frau_haile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morty doesn't easily forget what Mr. Jellybean did to him in the tavern restrooms.</p><p>(In which Rick comforts a traumatized Morty when they get home.)</p><p>(Chinese translation by Akeiw: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486233">AO3</a>, <a href="http://www.mtslash.net/thread-247505-1-1.html">mtslash</a>, and <a href="http://akeiw.lofter.com/post/1f3d352e_121db83b">Akeiw's website</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Go Home, Please

**Author's Note:**

> A/N (Oct. 30, 2015): I've only watched Rick and Morty for two hours and this happens. Seriously, the sexual assault scene of Meeseeks and Destroy really struck me and I couldn't just leave it there. Here's the residue of my feelings.

 

And he thought the last grip he had on Rick's white coat would give him the will to walk the quiet hall to his bedroom without feeling that damned ghost of a wretched tongue, and he thought the quick, rare smile his grandfather sent him before he disappeared into his own room would be enough to bleach his brain.

He set the water into scalding. He bared his face on the shower of hot steam, rubbing his skin furiously. The sharp smell of soap was thick and sickening but the rotting saccharine stench of the  _thing_ that tried to touch him clung even worse to the back of his head. It won't be enough, it won't be enough, oh god,  _it won't be enough_ , he felt horrified even with the friendly blue of the shower curtain and the clean, white tiles. He'll never be the same, not anymore. Not tonight _._

He couldn't bear to be naked, tugging on a fresh pair of pants and a shirt. He climbed into his bed, silently rocking himself, face buried in his knees.

_How are you today? I'm Mr. Jellybean._

Stopthinkingstopthinkingstopthinking –

His door creaks open, a stream of light piercing the floor. He steals a glance at the old man with his body half into the doorway.

"Everything okay, buddy?"

Morty shrugged. "N-No, not r-really."

His grandfather shifted awkwardly. Something about how his hand was twitching at his side told Morty he wanted to fish out his flask, but was fighting against it.

"D'you- _uurp-_ wanna talk 'bout it – ?"

"Oh jeez, R-Rick, n-no."

For fuck's sake, he didn't even want to think about it but his head was a broken record that kept reeling over and over, making the same shitty, fucked-up memory flash before his eyes, the exact same thoughts he didn't want to think about.

Rick hesitantly stepped into his room, flipping on the lights. Morty looked away from him, nailing his eyes instead on his grandfather's shoes.

He could not look Rick in the eye. Everyone's eyes right now scared the hell out of him, even his reflection. However they met his gaze, it was as if they could see the trace of filth on him. They had that look of pity, that although he wasn't physically defiled, he was no longer  _just_ a boy.

Pitiful, apologetic, demeaning. You can’t apologize for these kinds of things and make it help. It made him feel smaller than he already was.

In the shower, he had taken care not to rub as hard as he did on the side of his head that got slammed into the sink's hard edge. It was still swelling, his hot shower having agitated the skin there. Could Rick see it? He turned his head slightly to the left.

_Stop fighting me. Just let this happen._

Morty curled up tighter, limbs shuddering. He felt the ghost of warm breath clinging to his neck long after it had gone, while the sensation of that unrelenting grip that shoved him down the toilet seat wisped over his arms.

But he shouldn't think that no no no don'tthink _don'tthink_  –

"Look- _uurp-_ Morty," the old man stepped closer and Morty flinched sharply, and damn it all how Rick stayed exactly where he was, as if this small reaction meant each and every universe, a black hole barrier that he, a brilliant scientist who gave no fucks at all with an even more brilliant mind, would not dare cross.

He kept thinking, oh god, he couldn't  _stop thinking._ It just gets worse and worse the more he thinks of it. The horrid memory of rough hands and the disgusting smell of decaying sugar spit took it's time burning into his head.

He felt sick, so fucking sick.

"Morty," Rick continued, "c'mon, it's just, just me, Morty. Your grandpa Rick. No need to be afraid, buddy."

Yet he could not bring himself to look up at him, slowly rocking himself, wanting to feel numb but not being able to.

"I already decimated the diabolical son of a bitch, he can't fucking _hoUGHr_ _-_ hurt you, Morty. Listen Morty, he's up, up and scattered in bits now."

Mr. Jellybean is dead. He saw it himself, the light of Rick's gun and the gooey mess of his lipid-jam body spewing all over.

But to Morty, he was alive.

_No, stop, please –!_

A tongue on his neck, rough hands pinning him down and grabbing at the roots of his hair, exposing his throat, saliva slobbering all over his skin.

_Stop being such a fucking tease, you sweet little twat!_

He won't cry. He won't cry.

He couldn't find home. The voices and the bruises followed him here. Marks on his aching wrists and forearms rang with a swelling shade from vicious fingers. He could scrub himself pink, until he burned, he could leave no inch of skin exposed wearing the thickest, most oversized sweater he had collecting webs in his closet, but nothing can help him now. There will always be a ghost, and that ghost will follow him everywhere.

"R-Rick," he stuttered, a desperate little wail of wrecked letters.

"Yeah, Morty?"

Fuck, he didn't want to feel a damn thing, but it was all too much, the disgust that dug in deeper and deeper left him a lip-trembling mess of broken mewls and eyes squeezed shut. “Y-You said–“ Morty whimpered, “we’d g-g-go home Rick, let’s go home, I w-wanna leave this, I-I-I don’t wanna th-think about it a-anymore."

And he doesn’t know what made him look up to his grandfather, his face red with tears that had slipped through, “L-Let’s go _,_ p-please,  _please,_ I j-just w-w-wanna...go h-home, R-Rick.”

Morty blinked the blur away from his eyes. He saw on Rick a jumble of expressions he thought he wasn't capable of – extreme worry and alarm, all sobered up. Morty saw his grandfather break.

When Rick moved in to sit at his side, gathering him all in an embrace, he finds himself grappling for his grandfather's coat sleeve, pushing his face into his chest and sobbing, his shoulders hiking with each heavy wail. Without a word, Morty curled up against him, a trembling mess of a young boy who's gone too fucking close. Immediately, arms are gently holding him, hugging him protectively while a hand stayed atop his head, fingers shaking as they raked through his hair.

His grandfather, though cold, still had in him the flickering embers of emotion.

This is what it felt like to be held, to know that here, for once, he is safe, breathing in the faint smell whiskey and spilled chemicals from Rick's coat. He held him tighter, more desperately, fearing that if he let go now he'll hear it again,  _feel_ it again, and fuck, it's the last thing he wanted now.

"I'd kill him over and- _uurp-_ over again Morty," Rick slurred, lowering his chin on top of his grandson's head, "I'd chop off the nasty fucking hands he- _uurp-_ used to t-touch you and toss 'em in a volcano. For you, Morty. He can't hurt you here. You're home, buddy. It's me, it's okay, you're safe."

Rick's voice of drunken hiccs, mumbled diction and all, drowned out everything that plagued his mind. It was severe fondness that kept him in the embrace of his grandfather, who was unsteadily tugging him closer, mumbling  _shh_  every few moments. Morty's little hand clenched at the ends of Rick's sweater, his sobbing tuning down into soft cries.

He was home.

Rick closed his eyes, holding onto his only grandson, and he'd give everything to have held back the first tear that rolled down his cheek.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N (Oct. 23, 2015): I'm still fucking bawling. It was twelve midnight and I was exhausted from exams when I wrote the draft for this. Only five episodes into this and I've been turned around this way and that with this show's amazing mechanics at combining flashy science, dark, witty humor and family relationships. I saw Rick as an uncaring asshole in default from episode one to four and now Roiland and Harmon slams me with this shit and woah. Fuck.
> 
> The sexual assault scene wasn't even meant to be humorous. Holy shit, the first time I watched it I was scared as fuck, just staring haplessly at my screen because that was intense and horrible and so different from usual scenarios of Rick and Morty and I just, fuck, toward the end I wanna applaud that amazing character development.
> 
> We need more continuity in this show. Lemme just say I'm really excited to watch the character of Rick flesh out in later episodes.
> 
> This is my first writing on Rick and Morty, so apologies if the characterization is a little off, I only knew them for five eps :(
> 
> See you 'round, dudes.
> 
> (By the way, thank you to Ginger Ally for pointing out an error in dialogue; it's not supposed to be "sweet little fuck" it's "sweet little twat." Yeesh, would never have noticed due to the censored version! Thanks again, dude! :D)


End file.
